


Little Wild Thing

by ashangel101010



Category: Chaotic (Cartoon)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Kaz can sing, Little Wild Thing one-shot, mentions of fathers, possible cracked skull
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-15
Updated: 2013-10-15
Packaged: 2018-06-10 07:19:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6945256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashangel101010/pseuds/ashangel101010
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thirteen year-old Kazdan cracks open his head and meets a red gargoyle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Wild Thing

Little Wild Thing

*

Suggested Themes:

Main Themes- Like You by Evanescence, All is Love from Where the Wild Things Are

*

            Kazdan Robert Kalinkas is alone. Not alone in the sense of feeling lonely. Though he has felt lonely plenty of times. Especially, whenever Tom and his baseball team wins a game. Then, Tom becomes surrounded by congratulating teachers, happy parents, playful teammates, and flirty girls. It’s been awhile since Kazdan talked to Tom, the star pitcher, but that’s because Tom’s jock friends won’t let him anywhere near Tom. They didn’t think Kazdan was suited to hang around Tom because he dresses in dark clothing and has a freakish fixation on fire. He is the school’s resident freak and loner that not even the depressed or the Goth kids would even hang around. Also, the jocks tend to use him as a punching bag and even fellow weirdoes would take their frustrations out on the “misunderstood” kid. He has grown accustomed to the shoving, mocking, and occasional beatings from his bullies. In the darkness of his home, he would think about the day when he would burn his tormentors alive and finally punch Tom in his Golden Boy face. At home, it’s not better for Kazdan. His mother has to work long hours and be in Chicago most of the year so they can continue to live at their normal means. It wasn’t so bad at first because he got to stay with Tom and his family, at least until seventh grade began. Tom spent the previous year training for the baseball team and it clearly paid off. Unfortunately, it put a lot of distance between him and Kazdan because of their differing interests (baseball vs. _“Gargoyles”_ ), differing social circles (everyone vs. Kazdan), and differing upbringing (two, constant parents vs. a flighty, single mother).

Kazdan is alone at school and at home. Sometimes, he darkly wishes that his mother was the one who died. Other times, he would follow his tormentors to their homes and asses if he could get away with arson. Tonight, however, he is alone at the town’s only public playground. By alone, there are no other people (not even potential pedophiles) at the playground except for Kazdan. He is on a swing that he used to frequent with his father as kid. He is wearing a black pullover and dark jeans with black converses. He can easily sneak over to any of his tormentors’ houses right about now if he wished, but what would be the point if his tormentors aren’t home? Half of the town is at some knockoff version of Chucky E. Cheese’s because Tom and his team made to the semi-finals or the championships. The other half is probably busy hanging out with their families and friends. Right now, Kazdan has no family or a friend to give him companionship tonight. He has to rely on himself again to be entertained. To keep the loneliness at bay. He decided the best way to do so is relive the best part of his childhood, which was being pushed on the swing by his father.

**_Up, Up_ **

He remembers the thrill of being high up as a little kid. At the time, he believed he could touch the stars if he was high enough. Especially, when his father was the one that did the pushing. Ironically, he was also hoping to fly off the swings.

**_Down, Down_ **

He has to push himself with his own legs, struggling for some time before actually getting into the air. He believes that he will never be able to reach the stars or explore a new world. He might not be able to get the Hell out of this baseball-centric town. If only he could have a great fall like Humpty Dumpty, then maybe he won’t have those “urges” anymore.

**_Up, Up_ **

He has read a book where the main character wrote a paper describing his love for planes and flight. At the beginning, he found the character to be a wastrel that slacked off on his entrance exams to some haughty, private school until said character had to find a tutor to help him take the re-test so he can avoid dealing with his two-faced bitch of a sister. After a few chapters, Kazdan grew to like the character and his faceless tutor. Kazdan was also in that golden cocoon the boy spun for himself.

**_Down, Down,_ **

Yet, like in the book, the golden cocoon broke open. The boy found out his tutor is a pedophile and got a kid killed and his face burnt off because of it. Incidentally, when he finished the book, he was met with a horrible acknowledgement. Tom, with his groupies, was walking down the street and saw Kazdan, but quickly turned his head away like he was ashamed to have ever known the flame-haired child.

**_Up, Up, Up_ **

Kazdan felt almost relieved by Tom’s cruel cowardice. He wouldn’t have to fight the jocks to get a mere glimpse of Tom. He wouldn’t have to go through painful one-sided conversations with Tom. He wouldn’t have to consider Tom’s feelings (if he even had before) when he is about to do something harmful.

**_Down, Down, Down_ **

Yet, he also felt worthless like no one would even know if he were to die. His mother was hardly home to be considered emotionally reliable. Tom’s parents are only _Tom’s_ parents. It was during these points that Kazdan would light something on fire like a pile of dead leaves that reminded him of himself, torn up by mandibles and stomped on by big feet.

**_Up, Up, Up, Up……._ **

Maybe that’s why Kazdan is swinging rather than burning something (or someone) right now. He is now so high up in the air that he lets go of his hold on the cold chains of the swings. He’s a kid again and can actually believe that he can touch the stars. He can actually leave this world and never come back!

**_Down, Down, Down, Down_ **

Yet, he can see the ground and hard cement looming closer. He only got to touch the skies for a mere second before enduring a quick, harsh crash to reality. Who was he kidding? He was never going to leave this wretched world inhabited by dull strangers.

**_Crack!_ **

*

Kazdan coughed himself back to life. The air was so heavy with acrid smoke that his nose, eyes, and lungs became irritated. His eyes suffer the worse, which causes him to rub his eyes non-stop for a minute. He knows that his eyesight is deteriorating, which means that he’ll need glasses soon. He still has his father’s pink glasses, but he would prefer not having to wear them. The glasses make him sick with depression. His eyes clear up and see a field of molten rock and a lake of lava. There was no way in Hell he could teleport from a playground to a volcano from just swinging! If memory serves best, his head cracked on the cement sidewalk. Does that mean he’s dead? Is this Hell? He sees no demons with pitch forks or the Devil, although he wouldn’t mind seeing the one from Bald Mountain. If he was in the middle of a forest on Earth, he would’ve stayed put and wait until someone came to rescue him. He knows that he wasn’t on Earth or at least close to recognizable civilization, so he decides to walk until he finds someone or something interesting.

Like Hansel without a stupid Gretel, Kazdan wandered aimlessly in this new land of molten rock and lava. He easily got hot since all of the “volcanic” activities and had to peel off his sweatshirt, revealing a _“Gargoyles”_ t-shirt. He didn’t abandon his sweatshirt because he figures he can use it as a pillow when night hits. He looks up and only sees a ceiling of molten rock. He has no idea if this place even has a real sky or if it can get dark. He continues his walk while curiously surveying the terrain, hoping to find something different or a definite clue to where he was. He spots some rocks that looked like it was melted by blowtorch. These rocks were too far away from the lake of lava, so the “lake” didn’t cause it. He goes over to the rocks to see them better. The rocks were like conjoined twins that shared a head, but there is a large, melted whole in their union. He is almost tempted to touch the sides of the hole, but he can still see smoke rising from the sides. He is not willing to risk a third-degree burn for his curiosity.

“Flame Orb!” A voice growled out. Kazdan feels the heat of something fiery coming his way, so he ducks. A fire ball hits the top of the rocks and another melted hole appears. He turns around to see the person for it. He can only make out a red blur because the person, or maybe thing, was far away. Thankfully, the person walks closer and closer until Kazdan can finally see clearly. The person was a good three or four feet taller than Kazdan. He has red skin and bulging muscle with a red tail. He is wearing an animal-skinned skirt with matching boots. Most people would run away at such a strange figure, but Kazdan was enthralled by him because he looked like a gargoyle. Right down to the ice-cold gaze and blue horns, Kazdan feels like he has fallen for the red gargoyle.

“What in the Cothica are you?” Kazdan catches a glimpse of jagged, sharp teeth. I wonder how many humans has he killed with teeth! Kazdan thought excitedly, not even considering that those same teeth could be used against him.

“Holy shit, you’re like a red Goliath with Demona’s intimating nature!” Kazdan slobbered worse than any fanboy could. The red gargoyle arches a hairless brow like he might be amused at Kazdan’s enthusiasm or he might send a Flame Orb at him.

“Don’t make me ask again.” The red gargoyle growled at Kazdan. He almost steps back in fear, but would rather not get his back burned from the rocks.

“I-I’m Kazzy!” He decides to use a name that he hasn’t been called by in a long time. He only allows his parents to call him that name, but the red gargoyle has earned his fear and respect.

“Kazzy? Kazzy, Kazzy, Kazzy. It sounds like a song to a Mugic.” The red gargoyle played with his name like it was a sweet, clever foe.

“I answered your question, now answer mine! What are you and who are you?” Kazzy attempted a brave bravado, but the red gargoyle cuts him down with an angry growl and cold glare. Apparently, he doesn’t like phonies. Kazzy noted to himself.

“I am CHAOR, future LORD of the UNDERWORLD! And you will address me as such, Kazzy.” There’s a ball of fire, or Flame Orb, in Chaor’s hand to reinforce his command. Kazzy swallows deeply and nods his head submissively.

“I want to hear you say IT!” Chaor demanded.

“Yes, future Lord Chaor!” Kazzy’s voice cracked because of his fear and going through puberty.

“Good, Kazzy. I have decided to keep you. Now, follow me.” Chaor commanded. Kazzy feeling like an obedient pet, follows Chaor. They keep walking until Kazzy spots a vehicle. The vehicle looks like a cross between a motorcycle and a giant wheel with claws. As far as Kazzy can see, there is nothing but lava, rocks, and ash for miles and miles. Obviously, Chaor got here because of the vehicle.

“Get on the Mowercycle.” Kazzy climbs aboard and sits on the edge of the front seat. Chaor squeezes himself behind the boy and starts the Mowercycle. Chaor revs the engine and Kazzy almost fell off from the vibrations, so he clings to the front bars as Chaor peels out from the wasteland. He loses his sweatshirt due to his hands gripping the bars. The sweatshirt flies right back to the place where he woke up, waiting for someone to pick it up. Yet, Kazzy doesn’t notice his lost article of clothing as he keeps his gaze to the future.

*

It was amazing, awesome, epic, wonderful, incredible, and etc. what Kazzy saw. He saw buildings carved out from the rocks with tin roofs and cobblestoned roads. He saw demons with horns, multiple arms, scaled skins, and all sorts of fucked-up or animalistic faces. He saw weapons that look like supped-up flamethrowers, huge guns, jagged swords, and spikey shields and armors. It was like being dropped into a demonic MMORPG, but without any of the annoying know-it-alls or vulgar newbies. Or any humans. Chaor pulls up at the front of a palace that screamed satanic, villainous, and treachery in its almost monstrous, molten architecture. Chaor gets off the vehicle with Kazzy following him. Servants with sickly-green skin and rags approached to put the Mowercycle away, only briefly staring at Kazzy. They weren’t human, but then again Kazzy is certain that this world had no humans until now.

“Kazzy, don’t speak with anyone until I tell you so.” Clearly, nothing was up to debate with Chaor. Kazzy thought with a bit of annoyance and cheek. He knows that Chaor will be glad to fry his ass for sass.

“Okay, future Lord Chaor.” Chaor either didn’t pick up or didn’t care about the tiny bit of sarcasm in Kazzy’s words. The boy trails after the red gargoyle, passing more servants and a throneroom before arriving at a dark, wooden door that could have belonged to a dungeon.

“This is my personal chamber, meaning no one can go in without my permission except my father. Don’t worry, Kazzy, you’ll never see him. He rarely comes to see me.” To Kazzy, the words sound very resentful and lonely. However, to Chaor, it was just a statement. Chaor opens the door to his chamber and reveals the layout. There is a bed that would put a King-size to shame; it has red, animal-skinned (of this world) sheets and two pillows almost as big as Kazzy himself. There is a rock shelf with books and scrolls, but Kazzy cannot read the titles from where he stands. There is a dark brown table with a huge, thorny chair that is fitted for only Chaor. Weapons from axes to maces line the walls that add a “torture” feel to the dungeon-like atmosphere. There is a low-hanging chandelier with candles instead of light bulbs that provide light to the room. A wardrobe made of the finest wood (or a material that looks very similar to wood) is right next to the rock shelf. One final thing that Kazzy notices is there is another door. He hopes it is a bathroom and not an actual torture room.

“Follow me.” Chaor commanded once more. He goes to the other door and opens it; Kazzy’s heart stops for a beat. It is the biggest bathroom that Kazzy has ever seen. The tub is filled to the brim with boiling water, big enough to cook three Chaors. There is a large, metal bucket with brusque, red washcloth. There is a rock shelf, stacked with red towels. Right next to the shelf is a large mirror, allowing Chaor to admire all of his features. Thankfully, there is a toilet, but it looks jagged enough to give Kazzy some scratches on his ass.

“There is soap in the bucket to wash your face with. Use the water in the tub to clean your face; I rather not have grease marks on my pillows.” Chaor leaves before Kazzy can contest the remark. He lets out a yawn and wipes his face, feeling some soot and oil on his fingertips. Okay, maybe my face is due for a wash. Kazzy thought as he peels off his clothes. He folds his clothes and leaves them in a corner. He doesn’t want to get his only clothes wet. He tests the water with a finger and recoils from the heat.

“How the fuck can he stand the heat!?” Kazzy exclaimed loudly. There was no way in Hell he would be able to dunk his face in that boiling water. Instead, he carefully dips the washcloth in the water and wrings it out to dab on his face. It wasn’t too bad, but it still feels scalding hot. He dips it once more and sets it aside to apply some soap to his face. The soap is red, a color that Kazzy is certain that Chaor has an odd fixation for but then again who is he to judge? In fact, what right does he have to judge this world when he is the odd one out? This is a world (as far as he can tell) that has no sky, but plentiful smoke and fire. Yet, people can survive this kind of environment. Chaor clearly thrives in this kind of environment, especially since he is a pyrokinetic. How the Hell did I get here? Is this some sort of purgatory reserved for staunch atheists? Unless some sort of wormhole opened at that exact moment in the sidewalk, I probably should be dead. I might have died in this world if Chaor hadn’t “found” me. I don’t even know anything else about this place but the name and the future Lord of the UnderWorld. I don’t even know how long it will be until Chaor gets bored of me. When that happens, what will he do to me? Kazzy wondered with an anvil of anxiety weighing down his nonexistent soul.

*

“Took you long enough. Where are your……clothes?” It was the first time since Kazzy met Chaor that he actually heard a crack in the indifferent tone of the red gargoyle. Chaor is under the covers, so Kazzy cannot tell if he was still wearing his skirt though he can see that Chaor took off his shoes.

“Those are the only clothes I have, I would rather not get them dirty anytime soon.” Kazzy snapped lightly back. He is only wearing black boxers, while the rest of his clothes are still in the bathroom. He climbs into the left side of the bed, but does not go under the covers. He knows that he will die of a heatstroke if he slept in those covers that Chaor seems so fond of. The pillow does not swallow his head like he thought it would; instead, it arches his neck up causing his neck to ache. He forgoes the pillow and uses his arms instead. Chaor has his back to him, which allows Kazzy to lazily watch the wax drip from the candles in the chandelier. He wonders how many drips it will take before the light will go out. He cannot sleep with lights on even as a baby he couldn’t stand nightlights. Light makes him want to talk, and Chaor may not be in the mood for chatter. Yet, Kazzy is going to risk it.

“Future lord Chaor, why were you melting rocks at night?” Kazzy is pretty certain that it was nighttime here since Chaor is trying to sleep. He is also pretty certain that Chaor wasn’t going to answer him.

“……..It was my birthday and my father came to see me.” Kazzy can detect a note of leftover anger in Chaor’s tone. He would have retorted that Chaor was lucky to have father if it not for the possibility that Chaor might take his daddy issues out on him. Also, he remembers Chaor mentioning how his father rarely sees him, so it is only natural for a kid to resent the neglectful parent.

“Do you hate him?” The words for an obvious, tactless question tumble out of Kazzy’s mouth. Chaor still has his back to Kazzy.

“Yes, but not because a lack of paternal affection. I hate him because he isn’t a true UnderWorlder. He’s weak like all the servants and citizens say he is behind his back. I will overthrow him one day and become the greatest UnderWorlder of all time.” Kazzy feels the sheets being pulled to Chaor like he is trying to add more protection to his bulky form. He would have commented that Chaor has an inferiority complex if there wasn’t a strong, furious conviction behind the red gargoyle’s words.

“You can conjure fire from your hands and you look like a gargoyle. I think you’re pretty great already.” Admiration that only a fanboy can express comes deep from within Kazzy’s mind, stoking Chaor’s ego.

“Do you have any special abilities, Kazzy?” An awkward, deep silence falls between them. Technically, Kazzy is pretty good at drawing and at technology, but those skills are nothing here where everyone had supped-up weapons and powers. Yet, he does have one ability that he never shared with Tom or anyone else alive.

“I can sing.” It’s true and he’s fairly good at it. In fact, he almost tried to join the chorus club to prove to the school that he wasn’t just some fucked-up loner with a dead father. Unfortunately, he never made it to the auditions because jocks decided to jump him and kick him in the ribs. Apparently, one of the jocks had a girlfriend in chorus who didn’t want a “bad egg” like Kazzy to be in the club. He never tried to show off his musical talent ever again after that horrible experience. No one wants a freak like Kazzy to serenade them, especially in that world.

“Sing me a song. I will consider it a birthday present if you sing adequately enough.” Kazzy racks through his brain for an appropriate song. He knows songs about fire, loneliness, and darkness. But then he needs to light something on fire or kill something virtually to shake those “urges” off. He knows a song for this occasion. He has sang it before to his father’s tombstone. He heard the song online when he was looking for some new music. He only hopes that Chaor appreciates it.

_“Stay low._

_Soft, dark, and dreamless,_

_Far beneath my nightmares and loneliness._

_I hate me,_

_For breathing without you._

_I don't want to feel any more for you.”_

Chaor hasn’t utter a word of disgust or growled in annoyance, so that is good so far. The song is from Evanescence, a band that Kazzy wouldn’t normally listen to. Mostly because he thought the band was strictly reserved for Goths.

_“Grieving for you,_

_I'm not grieving for you._

_Nothing real love can't undo,_

_And though I may have lost my way,_

_All paths lead straight to you.”_

After listening to a few of their songs, he grew to like them. This one was his favorite song because it basically described what he feels for his father. His father that is rotting away in a grave that he promised he would never end up in.

_“I long to be like you,_

_Lie cold in the ground like you.”_

Those two lines described what he wished would happen whenever he was alone and without matches. At times, he couldn’t light a match to keep the darkness at bay, keep those suicidal signals from his mind. So he would sing a song until he could find a match.

_“Halo,_

_Blinding wall between us._

_Melt away and leave us alone again._

_The humming, haunted somewhere out there._

_I believe our love can see us through in death.”_

He knows that the song doesn’t sound as great as it could be without instruments. Even acoustics would probably make this song sound better. His voice couldn’t sound like painful whispers and heartbroken agony like the singer, but he does sounded irreparably damaged like the song.

_“I long to be like you,_

_Lie cold in the ground like you._

_There's room inside for two and I'm not grieving for you,_

_I'm coming for you.”_

His voice falters at time because of the annoying crack of puberty, but also from sorrow. The kind of sorrow that not even the sweetest candy can lighten. Maybe if he had someone to share with in solace.

_“You're not alone,_

_No matter what they told you, you're not alone._

_I'll be right beside you forevermore.”_

His mother was one person that he could have leaned on, but she’s rarely home. Even when she’s home, he feels like a stranger to her. She seems only polite, not a fountain of maternal affection that he needed.

_“I long to be like you, dad,_

_Lie cold in the ground like you did._

_There's room inside for two and I'm not grieving for you.”_

He changed “sis” to “dad” because he can only picture his father whenever he sang this song. Truth be told, he wouldn’t mind being dead with his father on some days. Especially on those days when no one would acknowledge his existence, even his mother would be too busy or forgetful to call him.

_“And as we lay in silent bliss,_

_I know you remember me.”_

He was getting very tired now, almost slurring the lyrics. Yet, he wants to finish it. He wants Chaor to hear the rest of the song.

_“I long to be like you,_

_Lie cold in the ground like you._

_There's room inside for two and I'm not grieving for you,_

_I'm coming for you.”_

Sleep finally grabs him and drags him down like a cement block in water. He didn’t get to ask if Chaor liked the song or not. He didn’t even get to hear Chaor’s comment.

“Beautiful.” Chaor has never used that word to describe anything that wasn’t related to a slaughtered OverWorlder or a vigorous battle. The servants and his father used that word to describe his mother. Chaor couldn’t agree because he has never seen his mother before because she died right after his birth. His father said it was from bleeding too much during the birth. The servants would viciously whisper it was from his father’s infidelity. He believes the servants because they were there for him more than his father, at least until night fell. Maybe that’s why he plucked Kazzy from the Lava Pond. The boy had no one to be with or a home to scurry back to. The boy would never leave him, so long as the door was kept locked. His father could never take the boy away because Chaor would fight him for this one. His father already stolen plenty of his nannies, but he wasn’t going to get Kazzy. Not as long Chaor hates him, which he always will.

*

When Kazzy wakes up, he almost bolts out of the bed in utter bewilderment at waking up in a bed that wasn’t his. His mind sluggishly supplied him memories from last night, allowing his heart to calm down. It wasn’t a dream. He wasn’t on Earth anymore. He was in another world called the UnderWorld. A place filled with fire and brimstone like a Puritan sermon. Yet, it was populated by demons and monsters known as UnderWorlders. He knows only the future Lord of this fiery, angry world that wants to potentially kill his own father. He is only in his boxers in aforementioned future Lord’s bed, making anyone take this scene out of context. On the table, he can see a bowl of cooked meat and a goblet; clearly, Chaor has left him some breakfast. He gets out of bed and heads to the bathroom to wash his face and put on his clothes. He uses the water in the tub to “clean” his teeth and then spits into the toilet.

“What the Hell am I going to do after breakfast? Does Chaor expect me to wait for him with nothing to do? Maybe I can try reading those scrolls to learn more about this world.” Kazzy goes and eat the bowl of meat, it taste like a rare steak with a bit too much blood. He takes an experimental sip from the goblet, noting that the liquid is like hot water dyed red. It wasn’t too bad, but his throat burns for a while. He goes over to the rock shelf and grabs a scroll. When he opens it up, he sees strange scrawling that resembles pictograph.

“This makes no fucking sense! How can the people here speak perfect English, yet their writing is like hieroglyphics!? Shouldn’t they be speaking in some sort of alien language? Where’s the logic in transdimensional beings speaking English but writing in gibberish? What is this some blockbuster, sci-fi movie!?” Kazzy tosses the scroll back into the rock shelf out of frustration. There goes his plans to get some information about this world. Originally, he wasn’t going to leave the room, but since there is nothing else for him to do, he has decided to explore the castle. Unfortunately, this plan fails to when he can’t get the door to budge open no matter how he tried to pull or push. It was just too heavy!

“Did he lock me in from the outside? Or maybe he’s the only one that can push open the door. Either way, I’m stuck here with nothing to do!” He hates having nothing to do; it makes him think and tempt his idle hands to destroy something! He thought about ripping up the scrolls and books in the rock shelf, but wisely decided not to mess with Chaor’s things. He doesn’t want to die just yet. But then again, isn’t it possible that he’s dead? Maybe he got reincarnated to this world, but then how come he isn’t like Chaor? Why is he still human when everyone else isn’t? This isn’t Heaven or he would’ve met God. This place certainly isn’t Hell or else Chaor would’ve raped him by now. Possibly, purgatory since he did most likely cracked his skull and ended up in a coma. But isn’t purgatory for those who believed in God and just couldn’t make it to Heaven or Hell? He doesn’t believe in God or Satan. He finds religion as repulsive as the town. He’s getting very, very, very, very, very, very vexed. He has his eyes on the scrolls on Chaor’s rock shelf.

“Same color as a baseball, the same one that Tom pitched to win the game.” He’s been to all of Tom’s games even though he hates sports. Maybe it was out of some old twinge of loyalty to a crumbling friendship that he went to all of Tom’s stupid games. He would be under the stands, peeking through the space between the bleachers and hairy legs. He never paid to go to a game because he didn’t want to waste his money and he can just jump the fence when no one was looking. He goes over to the rock shelf and swipes a scroll, the same scroll that he couldn’t understand a word or picture of.

“I wonder if I can tear up this ‘baseball’.” Kazzy wondered aloud like he is about to read a whimsical fairytale. He tentatively, slowly rips the scroll in two and watches the halves glide to the floor. He smiles, feeling a fire coursing through his fingers. He grabs the torn halves and rips them again, and again, and again, and again, and again until all that was left of the scroll is confetti. He grabs another scroll, without even opening it up, he rips it apart just like the first scroll. He does that to every single scroll until there was nothing but a big pile of paper confetti. He feels exhilarated, alive, and distracted after his small spree of destruction. He sees volumes of books, waiting for an innovative way to be destroyed.

“I wonder how well the covers will float in water.” Kazzy has an arrogant smirk on his face. He rips out the pages and turns them into paper confetti for the pile. He tosses aside the hard covers for now and then moves onto the next book. He repeats the process until all of the books have been vandalized. He takes the hard covers to the bathroom and dumps them in the tub. They did not float as it turns out because they weren’t denser than water. He leaves the room and plops himself on the bed. He’s tired, emotionally drained. He is fulfilled for now like he has eaten Chinese take-out. Yet, like the take-out, the fulfilment will burn out in an hour. His eyes close shut and he drifts off into a dreamless sleep.

*

Kazzy is ripped out of his sleep by a loud crashing sound. He jolts up and sees the rock shelf in tiny little pieces, and he also sees Chaor. He sees a very pissed-off, red gargoyle. Chaor roars an ear-splitting roar, which causes Kazzy to cover his ears in pain. It only takes a moment for Chaor to notice him and stalk towards the bed. In that moment, Kazzy realizes that he is going to die. He is hoisted into the air by Chaor, he feels his shirt rip a bit. There is a moment of outrage for his shirt, but his fear smothers his anger. He sees Chaor’s ice-blue eyes lit up with a demented fire. Yup, I’m definitely going to die. Will he roast me alive or will he break my neck? Maybe he’ll boil me alive in the tub! Kazzy is almost hyperventilating with tears pricking his eyes. Chaor roars at him like Beast at Belle.

“WHAT DID YOU DO!?” Of course, Chaor is smart enough to connect the dots. He locked up Kazzy to make sure that he wouldn’t wander around the castle. The last thing he wants is for the boy to meet his father. Kiru isn’t going to steal this one away from him. Yet, Kazzy decided to go on a rampage and destroy all of his scrolls and books. Those scrolls and books belonged to his mother.

“P-Please, don’t k-kill me! I was just really pissed about being locked up like some sort of pet!” Kazzy’s eyes are tainted with fear. His voice cracks again like he is being choked.

“DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU’VE DONE!?” Chaor shakes Kazzy so hard that it looks like the poor boy was having a seizure.

“I-It was just a bunch of s-scrolls! You’re the future Lord of the UnderWorld, can’t you just get more?” Wrong answer, Kazzy thought when he feels Chaor’s hands on his neck. He claws at Chaor’s hands, feeling the air being squeezed out of him. He chokes, squeals, and gasps for air, but Chaor refuses to let up. He can feel the bones in his neck breaking under Chaor’s fierce grip. He cries out one last time before…..

**_Crack!_ **

*

Kazdan Robert Kalinkas coughs his way back to life, to Earth. He sees a small puddle of blood under his head and he gets up. He touches his forehead and feels a huge gash that probably needs a few stitches. His mind is also in a need for a few stiches. A few seconds ago, he was falling and then felt the air being cut off from his lungs. There were only bits of his memories from the time after he cracked his skull against the pavement. He remembers singing and a red gargoyle, but his neck remembers the sensation of a vice grip. He has no idea how long has he been out, but clearly it was still night. He slowly gets up from the ground and feels his head ache fiercely. It wasn’t from his head wound, but at the lost memories. He feels like he went to someplace and met someone. That someplace was filled with lava. That someone was a red gargoyle.

“I need to get to a clinic. Maybe I should go to Tom’s house and get his mom to take me.” He puts the red gargoyle from his mind. In fact, he doesn’t even remember the red gargoyle until almost a year later when he buys his first Chaotic cards. His head hurts immensely when he finds Chaor in the pack, his neck also begins to throb at the same time. He doesn’t know why, but he feels like Chaor is very familiar. Red gargoyle, his mind supplied him. The memory was dancing across his eyes, but far too quick for him to process. He hums softly a song as he leaves the hobby store. He clutches the Chaor card tightly in his hands and almost sings to it as he goes home.

*


End file.
